


Batgender

by celestialmonsta (artsySociologist)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Gender Dysphoria, Genderqueer Character, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artsySociologist/pseuds/celestialmonsta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most self indulgent work in which no one is cisgender or straight, Bruce is a completely different person, and these kids raise him more than he raises them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly have so many qualms posting this just because I wrote this out of pure selfishness but its been said to make others emotional so let's do it

Bruce was four years old. He was growing out of every pair of pants his mother bought him and he still napped with his head in his mother’s pillow when she brushed his hair. The first words out of his mouth whenever he woke up were “I love you.” His parents always said it back and they kept saying it for five years. Then one day, after five years of love and affection, he woke up in an empty mansion with a sad butler, unkempt hair and tears on his face, and no one to tell him they loved him.

Then Bruce was ten years old and he grew out of every pair of pants his butler bought him and he napped in the big office chair in the parlor with his head on a stack of legal documents he didn’t understand. He woke up to his butler trying to coerce him into eating something more than a breakfast sandwich and a bottle of water. He decided suddenly, years later, that he couldn’t take that anymore, none of that pity, none of that care, without his mother’s petticoats or his father’s slacks to back it up. And so he was eighteen years old, recovering from childhood eating disorders and a broken family, and he left his butler and his eyes full of pity and love and legs bare of violet slacks or blue petticoats and went to make something of himself and his grief.

And after the grief has taken a back burner to physical pain and the strain of training himself to be the best after a lifetime of living the worst, after he sweated and bled and cried, and grew out of every binder he bought for himself, Bruce was twenty-two and as muscular as he was hollow and returning to a house he tried his hardest to forget and a butler he never quite could. The night of his return, he ate everything Alfred cooked, and then some after Alfred went to bed for the night.

A year passed and Bruce lived in an empty house that echoed of naps, with a repressively efficient butler with an overly British last name. He was twenty-three and the only thing in the house that had changed were the linens.

\-----------

Ms. Okoye was a petite woman with a big voice and bigger eyes. She smiled with her soul and wore her heart right under her sleeve, behind her bracelets. She had freckles all over and skin as dark as oak. She reminded Bruce of his mother, in appearance and disposition, and at times it made having her as a psychiatrist easier, but most times it made the hollow pit in Bruce’s chest swell and flair and throb in pain. He told her things his mother never knew, or never needed to be told, and he told her things his mother would have sent him to his room for.

“Well, Mr. Wayne, I really don’t see anything that would be of concern. We should probably figure out how to get you to sleep at night but if you think it’ll help, that could work with just a quick visit to the nearest pharmacy.” Ms. Okoye snapped her notebook shut, definitely but not smartly, and folded her hands over it gently.

“And... that’s it? That’s all?”

“Oh, are you worried that you’ve taken your ultimate childhood fear and used it to define every important aspect of your identity, including your gender?” She smiled amicably. “Nah, I don’t see anything wrong with that. A coping mechanism based off the thing that you fear the most isn’t that uncommon. If you think it gets out of hand, I’m always a call away.”

A few more words and then she hustled him out of the door. He left better than he came, not quite smiling but feeling like he could again. That night, he told Alfred to dress in the most casual outfit he owned for a night out, because he deserved it. The circus was in town and Bruce bought Alfred the popcorn Bruce’s father always bought him. Alfred’s mustache lifted at the corners and Bruce felt himself almost smiling back.

Then the trapeze artists’ act was sabotaged and Bruce left the circus feeling much worse than when he came, with the hollow of his heart aching and a kid barely in middle school. That night, Bruce tried to get Dick Grayson, his new ward, to each as much of their dinner as they could stand and tried to comfort them when they couldn’t stand anything.

\-----------

Two hours after returning home, Bruce sat down in the kitchen and watched Alfred clean. He waited until Alfred slid a cup of coffee over to him and held his own in frail hands before Bruce looked him in the eye.

“I don’t know how you dealt with me.” Bruce brought his mug to eye level and stared at Alfred through the smoke curling around his face. “If I was any kind of wreck like that kid is now, I’d...”

He faltered and the corners of Alfred’s mustache dipped. “Sir, you and I both know that you would have done exactly what I did, as you are doing now. If this is doubt, there is absolutely no need for it. You are doing fine and nothing will have changed once you’ve been named the child’s legal guardian.”

Bruce stared at him through the fog over his eyes and then lowered the cup from his face. There was still fog on his eyes and still a heaviness in his chest next to the hollow, but he needed those words.

“You never used to be this harsh on me before.” Bruce said to the grain of the wood table.

Alfred set his empty cup on the table and folded his hands over Bruce’s and lifted them from the mug.

“Sir, you were a ten year old orphan. You didn’t need harsh. Now, you’re a 25 year old father. You need harsh served with every cup of coffee.”

Alfred sent him off to sleep after that. Bruce paced his room for twenty minutes before tip toeing to Dick’s room. He popped his head in and caught Dick just slipping into bed. Bruce lifted a corner of his mouth the best he could and Dick did the same.

“You can’t sleep either, huh?”

Dick shook his head and slowly laid their head on their pillow. “It- I. My bones are different.”

Bruce didn’t know what to do with that. He anticipated Dick being up, anticipated them wanting to talk, anticipated the odd talks that might only make sense to Dick. Anticipated these things, but didn’t know what to do with it, and especially not that.

“I, ah. Wanna talk about- it?” Bruce sat down in the chair at Dick’s desk and placed a hand on his laptop for lack of better things to do. It was still warm and Bruce wondered what Dick had been doing but he could ask that later.

“No.” Dick shifted in their bed until they could look Bruce in the eye without getting up. “It feels like- bird bones. Hollow. Like my bones left me and now I have bird bones and no talons and no wings and no use for these bones. It doesn’t matter if they’re human or bird, I don’t need them.”

“Ah. I... I think I know what you mean,” Bruce asked more than he said. “After... After my parents were murdered I...” He looked down at his hand on Dick’s laptop and swallowed. “I felt like someone took a big knife and hacked out my chest. Took my heart and lungs and dumped them somewhere I couldn’t get them back.”

Dick slowly sat up. “But you got them back, right? You found your lungs and heart and put them back, right?”

Bruce looked up, into Dick’s eyes, and saw how they wanted him to say yes. How bad Dick themselves needed the answer to be yes. Bruce thought about how he wished the answer was yes, and how the truth is hurting him and would hurt Dick.

“No.” Bruce held Dick’s eye. “No, but I’m working on it.”

Dick dropped their eyes and dropped back onto their bed. “You’ve been working on it for twenty years.”

Bruce swallowed, because that’s not a thought he allowed himself to think. Because this twelve year old child just lay out everything Bruce didn’t want to acknowledge.

“I...know. But...” Bruce looked at the door, looked at the floor, looked anywhere but at Dick so they didn’t have to see the lie written on his face. “I’ll work on it twenty more years if that’s what it takes.”

Bruce glanced back at Dick to see them cover their eyes with their forearm. “What if it takes more?”

Bruce sighed. “I’ll work the more then. I don’t have to live hollow.”

Dick let his arm flop to the pillow beside his head and turned over in his bed. Bruce patted his cooling laptop and rose slowly. He walked quietly to their door and was halfway out of it before he turned back. “You don’t have to live hollow either.” He pretended the door clicking close was too loud to hear Dick sniffling.

He crept back to his room and clicked on the lamp near the door and wasn’t surprised to find Alfred sitting in his lounge chair, legs crossed at the knee and a frown sitting on his brow.

“Sir, if I may,” He didn’t give room for interruption. “When I said to get some rest, I did not mean for you to keep yourself and the child awake with your combined sorrow. I meant ‘get some rest.’ Just that and only that.”

Alfred rose from the seat and patted Bruce’s shoulder as he passed. “Sir. Sleep.”

Bruce waited until he could hear Alfred stepping further down the hallway to sigh. His body deflated but the pit took that as a chance to spread its influence further. Bruce’s arms felt heavy and his eyes droopy and he could do nothing to fight the hollow feeling overtaking the entirety of his chest. He barely made it out of his clothes and into bed before he dropped off.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce should pay more attention to his ward and mistakes are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where that gender dysphoria tag is coming into play (for the first time at least). Extra warning for emetophobia and hormone abuse.

The next morning Dick asked Bruce when they could go shopping. Bruce blinked and realized with a start that Dick only had a few hoodies and some jeans to their name, and nothing to combat the upcoming cold season.

Bruce sat at the kitchen table while Alfred bustled about finding ways to keep himself busy and Dick stared at him questioningly as Bruce cleared his entire calendar for the next three days and withdrew a couple thousand dollars from his bank account.

When he rose, Dick did too. “I, uh. You didn’t have to do all... that. For me. I didn’t mean to rush you.”

Bruce grinned the best he knew how. “I know.”

After Alfred deemed them presentable enough to leave the house and Bruce and Dick flipped a coin over who could choose the car, Bruce and Dick were on their way into the city. Bruce was amazed at the difference in the broken child with the hollow bones from the night before and the child smiling and waving at everyone they passed and translating pop songs into Rromani and daring Bruce to do the same in Spanish. Bruce wondered if this was permanent or just a way to weigh down their hollow bones so they wouldn’t drift out of the window. He didn’t ask; he kept his questions limited to whether or not Dick wanted to stop at this mall or the next and what greasy fast food place to stop by for lunch and lie to Alfred about.

They returned tired and laden with bags and hungry. They pretended they didn’t stop for anything but clothes and Alfred pretended he believed them.

After all the bags were squared away and Bruce managed to rope Alfred into helping him teach Dick how to make ice cream from scratch, the two of them sat in the lounge and Bruce let Dick flip through the channels too fast for him to actually see what they were showing. They settled on some cartoon and leaned back against the sofa, Bruce’s legs on their left.

Bruce wanted to ask them if they had a good time, if they liked living with Bruce and wouldn’t change their mind when Bruce had to work late and leave early. Bruce wanted to ask Dick if he was weighed down enough, or if he’d drift away. Bruce wanted to ask a lot of questions too heavy for a preteen with a belly full of ice cream and a head full of misery. So instead he sat back and patted his head and started speaking alongside the episode of Spongebob, word for word, without changing his expression or voice when he noticed Dick craning his head back to stare at him.

They both fell asleep there, Dick against the couch and Bruce on it and Alfred stopped bustling long enough to throw a blanket over the both of them.

\------------

Dick wakes up with a pounding headache their third month into being Richard Grayson-Wayne. They don’t tell Bruce about it, even when it morphs into a headache and rolling stomach. Bruce doesn’t know why Dick didn’t tell him but he blames himself for not noticing how ashen their skin looked at breakfast. When he finally does notice, he’s too late to be of any comfort and can only hold the kid’s hair back while they puke into the toilet.

When Dick’s done and leaning tiredly against the toilet, Bruce sits down on the closed toilet seat and cards a hand through his own hair.

“Ah, do you know... why you’re sick?”

Dick squinted up at him, eyes nearly closed in thought and if this were any other time, Bruce knows they’d be humming comically and stroking imaginary whiskers. As it were, they just stared at him while they thought. Bruce was ready to take his question back when Dick finally answered.

“Sketchy hormones.” 

They kept squinting at Bruce, their eyebrows pulled. They probably expected Bruce to do- something negative. Bruce wasn’t sure what. He didn’t do whatever it was.

He didn’t do the right thing either. He sat there with the sick kid staring up at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and Bruce sat there and thought some himself.

Dick had been getting multiple packages in the mail from stores they found online. At first, Bruce asked that all boxes and parcels be opened with him in the room just in case it was dangerous but after most of them turned out to be clothes or accessories, he’d stopped checking.

He trusted Dick to do the right thing for the situation, and the right thing to Dick wouldn’t always be the right thing to Bruce. This is a situation Bruce wished they could have avoided though.

Bruce almost didn’t notice when Dick moved to get up. They were mostly out the door before Bruce spoke up.

“I’m sorry... I haven’t been a very good father.”

Dick turned back and Bruce started fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Dick slowly cocked his head to once side and Bruce nodded to himself and lifted his shirt smoothly over his head. He took a deep breath and started, “So, I kinda know what you might be going through.”

He reached up and touched one of the scars on his chest lightly. There were a lot there, but he’d always be able to tell these scars from the rest.

“These are mastectomy scars. They’re here because I couldn’t start testosterone when I wanted to because my hormone levels were too unstable and because my- because I had breasts and they didn’t feel like they were supposed to be there.”

Dick made a choked noise and Bruce looked up to see them sniffling, eyes wide, and Bruce felt tears well up in his own eyes as he spoke.

“I’m not. I’m not a boy, not all the time, but I’m not a girl either, and the breasts were too hard to live with and, and I’m okay with he pronouns, that’s what everyone uses anyway, but I’m not. I’m not a boy, and I’m not a girl and I really am a poor excuse for a trans person to not have an environment where you feel safe asking for hormones. I really fucked up there. Sorry, Dickie-bird.”

Bruce and Dick sniffled in unison once, then twice, before Dick spoke. 

“I... It’s okay. You- I. Can I get... real hormones?” Dick bounced through questions and sentences before choosing the most important. 

“Ones I don’t order off a sketchy website...”

Bruce wiped his nose messily and nodded sharply. “We can visit the same specialist I get mine from. They can probably answer any questions you have better than I can.”

Dick nods and Bruce nods back.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was Dick, in fact, that proposed defining their relationship concretely. Which is to say, Dick dropped down from a chandelier in front of Bruce and so eloquently stated, "You're not my dad." Then proceeded to avoid Bruce for three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like to make jokes only i will laugh at  
> also Dick so had borderline personality disorder i can support this with a ton of evidence probably

Bruce gave Dick a lot of credit but he really needed not to underestimate then as much as he did, however little that amount was. It was Dick, in fact, that proposed defining their relationship concretely. Which is to say, Dick dropped down from a chandelier in front of Bruce and so eloquently stated, "You're not my dad." Then proceeded to avoid Bruce for three days.

Bruce, against his better judgement, refused to ask Alfred for any help this time. He figured he could deal with an overactive acrobatic eleven year old on his own. He also figured he was very wrong but he'd take that chance anyway.

——

Bruce anticipated avoidance; in their late night talks, Alfred has politely implied many times that Dick takes after Bruce with their lack of social skills. Bruce agreed and decided three minutes after the shock of Dick appearing and disappearing so quickly had worn off that it was time to have some important conversations that Bruce had been, yes, avoiding.

A small child with a heavy gymnastic background and far more energy than should be possible for someone who only eats cereal is, however, much better at avoiding someone 20 years older than them.

Much.

——

Bruce thought the best course of action would be to corner Dick during breakfast. He managed to even get up, get dressed, and get downstairs on time rather than just in time for Alfred to set the table.

When he strode into the kitchen, however, Alfred informed him that his plans were all for naught.

"Young master Dick has decided that they would prefer breakfast in their bedroom this morning. I doubt you will find more than a few crumbs on their bedspread, but you are welcome to check in any case." Alfred explained as he placed Bruce's plate of chilaquiles and a rolled up newspaper in front of him. Bruce frowned but he agreed. He supposed that as long as the talk happened at some point that day, putting it off a few hours wouldn't hurt.

He skimmed his newspaper anxiously however and his breakfast went mostly untouched. After fifteen minutes of watching him fidget from the other end of the long maple table, Alfred cleared his throat and set his own fork down on his empty breakfast place.

"Master Bruce, it is probably too late to find young Master Dick in their room at this moment, but there is a certain oak tree out in the garden that you might check with moderate success." Alfred's mustache twitched politely.

Bruce thanked Alfred profusely and slid his newspaper messily onto his plate before very swiftly exiting the kitchen. Alfred sighed and shook his head.

——

Bruce hadn't been in the garden for awhile. He made sure it was up-kept and that the gardener was well compensated for her hard work. Stepping out into the lush area made Bruce feel proud; Ms. Sanchez obviously loved her job and the thickness and neat state of the foliage made it obvious. It also would make it significantly harder to find Dick in it but Bruce would face it anyway, as Ms. Sanchez apparently had a love of oak and there was a large grove of them in the southern section of the garden.

Bruce strolled through the small forest, calling Dick's name and craning his neck into the foliage above. His eyes watered against the sun filtering through the leaves. He didn't catch a single glimpse of brown skin against dark oak or dark hair against green foliage the entire time he searched. He managed to get to the end of the oak trees before he found any sign of Dick. The teddy bear that they had brought with them from the circus, a small, lumpy grey elephant named Zitka, sat on the lowest branch of a tree nearing the edge of the grove. The teddy bear was placed there carefully but as hard as he squinted, Bruce couldn't make out any indication of Dick being anywhere near it. 

With a defeated sigh, Bruce picked Zitka up tenderly from the branch, careful of any snags, and held it cradled in his arms. He rocked the toy a bit before shaking his head and turning and making his way back out of the oak grove. The wind whistled through the trees, almost like sad laughter.

——

Bruce spent the rest of the day intermittently working on research for legal cases he had to present that weekend and looking for Dick. He checked their room and found a still warm laptop and recently ruffled bedspread but no Rromani child. A glance into the sitting room yielded an open book and room temperature mug of cocoa. A break to stroll around the library was also unfruitful. Bruce grew increasingly frustrated. He couldn't blame the kid for being nervous about what Bruce would say after such an abrupt statement but he still wished he had the chance to explain that it was ok and promise Dick that he would hear them out. More than anything, he was frustrated with himself. After their discussions about hormones and safety, and Dick finally starting those hormones, Bruce thought that he had successfully established an environment where Dick felt safe or unembarrassed to talk about anything. Dick's clever avoidance of him spoke volumes, all of which said that Bruce was wrong and needed to rectify this.

Bruce resigned himself to his work the rest of the day and though he finished in record time he still felt as if he had accomplished nothing. Passing Dick's room that night on his way to bed, he paused and placed his hand against the door. He flattened his palm to it and debated opening it. In the end, he decided against it and went to sleep uneasy. It was the first time that he had fallen asleep without kissing Dick's forehead but more importantly it was the first time Dick had fallen asleep with getting a forehead kiss from Bruce.

——

The next morning, Bruce had moderately more success. Though tired from a restless night, he managed to catch Dick at the kitchen table. He gave them a wan smile and a good morning. Dick looked cheerful enough and returned Bruce's hi enthusiastically. Bruce fidgeted at the door before opening his mouth to compliment Dick on their skirt, only to find that Dick had already escaped with their plate.

Bruce slumped into the chair and had his cheek pillowed on his forearm when Alfred approached him with their plates in hand.

"Master Bruce? Are you quite alright, sir?" Alfred set one of the plates in front of him and placed his gloved hand against Bruce's temple.

Bruce resolutely didn't pout under him. "Dick is avoiding me."

The corner of Alfred's mustache twitched and he set the other plate down in front of the chair next to Bruce before taking the seat for himself. "It would appear so, sir."

Bruce rolled his forehead on his arm frustratedly and took his time responding. "But...why? Did I do something wrong Alfred?"

Alfred frowned and placed his hand on top of Bruce's. "Sir, their avoidance is caused by no fault of your own. Young Master Dick is merely having some difficulties adjusting to their new hormone levels in addition to the talk they know you plan to have."

Bruce's frown deepened, the crease in his forehead becoming ever more pronounced.

"But they... They can talk to me about it. I could maybe help?" The statement was more of a question than Bruce intended it to be.

Alfred shook his head gently. "That, they understand. They also understand that they want to work this out themselves for awhile first. Part of being a parent, sir, is letting your child make their own decisions. Should this prove to be a poor one, they will learn from it and come to you more. However should their decision be a good one, they will grow confident in their own abilities and importance and that chance at development is arguably more important, even if it does wound your pride as a parent."

Bruce pursed his lips at Alfred before burying his face into the crook of his arm. Alfred rubbed his back and eventually Bruce raised his head again. He smiled at Alfred, small and watery, and took their plates to the microwave to be reheated. Alfred folded his hands delicately in his lap while he waited and stared resolutely at the table's grain.

——

Dick was worried. They, or she? She wasn't sure if that was because they had been avoiding Bruce or because she- they somehow managed to almost miss their spironolactone dose that morning but they-she. She felt awful. She felt really horribly awful. She distinctly remembered taking the tablet if she thought about it hard enough but then if she had to think about it that long, did she really ever take it then? Or was she projecting the memory of taking it the day before onto the present and really hadn't taken the anti androgen at all? She wasn't sure. She hadn't slept well the last two days but she was sure that was because she was avoiding Bruce. She missed him and she had just talked to him half an hour ago. She was reminded of when her parents were readying for their performance and she was still too small to go with them on the trapeze and had to watch them from the sidelines. She had to watch them... from the sidelines. Bruce reminded her of her parents a lot actually. It scared her, sometimes. Most times, really. Despite what she told Alfred, she refused to talk to Bruce more because of that and her outburst two days ago than her hormone replacement therapy. She was dealing with that pretty fine. It was about the only thing she was dealing with, if she's being honest.

Dick knew, under all the nerves and anxiety, that she wasn't wrong for saying that to Bruce. Yes, her delivery could use a little help, but there was no way to blame her for anything wrong in what she said. She could go and talk it out to Bruce. That is a thing she could do, probably with very little repercussions. 

But she didn't want to. She didn't like the small possibility that Bruce could say "No, I'm not your dad." And she'd be kicked out. She'd be alone. She'd gotten so used to this mansion, this life, this family... Without them she didn't know what would've happened to her. Put through the system, she imagined, if she had been a naturalized citizen at the time. Probably deported if she hadn't, which she wasn't. She would've loved to just stay with the circus and her friends but she wasn't sure if that was right. Like how staying with Bruce and Alfred feels right, like how her bird bones feel weighted down. The circus wouldn't be able to do that, she doesn't think. Not with her being reminded of the Flying Graysons every time she turns around.

Her point was, she was attached. And rejection would be way too much to add on to what she was dealing with already. Hence, the avoidance.

It made more sense when she made the decision. Honestly, she had been thinking she was wrong since one night without a good night forehead kiss had fucked her up so bad, but she had to stick to her decision. It was the grown-up thing to do.

Or at least she thought it was.

\----

The third day, the both of them broke down simultaneously. They both entered the kitchen at the same time, groggy and bleary eyed and slightly surprised to see the other.

Dick was the first to break the staring contest she couldn't remember starting and sat down in the chair she usually sat in, across from Bruce's favorite. It was a peace offering. It was her saying, if you're gonna talk, I'm gonna listen. It won't be awkard.

It was kinda awkward.

The only thing to break the monotony of not looking at each other was Alfred repeatedly entering and exiting the kitchen's dining area. It would seem he decided not to eat with the family today and while Bruce and Dick both appreciated the privacy, they'd both appreciate his physical support more.

After watching Dick pick at her eggs for a bit, Bruce cleared his throat. He immediately regretted it as Dick's eyes were suddenly focused on him. They were very close to another stare off before Bruce cleared his throat again, softer this time.

"Did you, uh- have you taken all your pills this morning?"

Dick smiled at her plate. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did, thank you for asking. And oh, uh. Could you call me she today?" Dick glanced up, pursed her lips, and looked back down at her plate. "I should get used to it right? For school?"

Bruce bit back a gasp and smiled weakly instead. "Yeah. Yeah, school. And, uh, no problem. About the pronouns."

Bruce had completely forgotten about school. School meant having to make an announcement about Dick's transition before the tabloids made up lies themselves. He'd figured homeschooling would be a good choice for her, honestly. But then again, Bruce himself had stayed at home a lot after his parents' deaths. It was...lonely, without anyone his age to talk to and his distant family remaining very much distant. School would be...good for Dick. They'd make friends. That'd be good for her.

"We'll...talk about school a little later, yeah? We should...talk about what you said three days ago right now."

Dick visibly flinched and frowned hard down at her plate. She mumbled something that sounded vaguely like assent and so Bruce took a breath to steady himself before charging on.

"I do not expect to replace your parents. I know they were very important to you, and very good and accepting parents and I can only hope to follow in their footsteps, raising you as a.... Well, as a very good child. But I would never hope to replace them. Ever." Bruce fiddled with his napkin in the silence that followed and Dick sniffled a bit.

"I... I'm so... I was so scared I shouldn't have said that and that you were going to kick me out. I'm so happy." Dick sniffled again and wiped her nose on her shirt sleeve.

Bruce frowned. "Never. Never, ever would I kick you out. This is your home as much as mine, Dick. You shouldn't have to worry about being kicked out and I'm so sorry if I ever made you feel like you would be."

Dick shook her head, laughing. "No it's... It's so stupid. I knew you would never do that but it didn't stop me from being so scared that you would..."

Bruce bit his lip and reached across the table to hold Dick's hand. "We should talk more about this. But later. It's too early, mija."

Dick laughed wetly. "You're a lawyer, you should be used to early."

Bruce smiled. "Doesn't mean I like it."

\----

Dick and Bruce stayed up late that night, going over middle schools in their area that Dick would like. She wanted a good education but she wanted to be surrounded by average children too. Nothing too prestigious but nothing with too many teachers that would give up on an immigrant Brown kid. That didn't leave them with many options but they were happy with the choices they did have. Bruce kissed Dick's forehead after tucking her in and Dick got her forehead kisses after being tucked in and they both slept the best they had in three days.


End file.
